


Awakening

by goodcasting



Series: Twisted and Steamy [1]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Jpop, SixTONES (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hand Jobs, Hokuto POV, Hokuto sexual awakening, M/M, Mystery, Paint Kink, Slow Burn, Taiga is a temp, Taiga is dom, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodcasting/pseuds/goodcasting
Summary: The start of a twisted relationship between a painter and a yakuza.
Relationships: Kyomoto Taiga/Matsumura Hokuto
Series: Twisted and Steamy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928986
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> \- I wanted to write something TWISTED and STEAMY, hence, I started this series.  
> -As much I enjoy writing Taiga, I decided to write this time in Hokuto's first-person POV, but when I re-read this, I realized that even though this was written in Hokuto's POV, the story is basically more about Taiga (I guess I'm a Taiga-tan all the way!). Anyway, as you read along, you will eventually see that Taiga's character is very un-Taiga (if that's a proper term).  
> -The "weird plot shit" tag is so fitting for this, so please tell me if it's not weird enough.

I knew Kyomoto Taiga doesn’t like me the moment he entered the room, he looked at me as though I’m a stain on his all-white furniture, a stain that should be removed in haste. He didn’t bother with decorum either, he just removed his white shirt that was drenched in sweat and splashes of paint, and proceeded in wiping the waterfall of sweat from his chest and back. Seeing a half-naked man shouldn’t bother me, I’ve even bathe with tattooed men, but the sight of this man’s creamy-white skin just drawn my eyes to it, his lack of developed muscles should have made him scrawny, but it made his body looked soft and pliant.

“You’re new?” he asked before removing his messy ponytail, he shook his blond locks, splashing some sweat on my arms, before combing his hair back to a half ponytail.

“Yes, Matsumura Hokuto, gallery direc-”

“It's fine,” he said and sat on the S-shaped chair across me, still half-naked, he crossed his arms on his chest, leaned his back, and jutted out his chin toward me. I could now clearly see his face and I didn’t think that it could be possible for a man to be this level of pretty; long eyelashes, aquiline nose, pinkish lips, high cheekbones, and I could go on but I’m obviously boring him.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asked, his right eyebrow raised.

“Sorry about that,” I sat on the opposite chair, I was never the type to get easily intimidated, it was always the other way around, people get intimidated by my aloofness so I always try hard to strike a conversation, but not to Kyomoto, he’s a snob and proud of it. I was about to say something when his butler arrived with a tray of tea, biscuits, and a fresh white shirt. He begrudgingly wore the shirt while complaining that the house is boiling.

“So, why are you here?” he asked after he sipped his tea, his pinkie raised, and I noticed that his fingers were smudged with paint. He was probably painting when I arrived, hence, the bad mood.

“My boss, Watanabe-san, wants you to restore a painting for him, it’s an Old Master and-”

“I’m a painter, not an art restorer, tell that jerk- I mean your boss- to find someone else,” he stood up to leave.

“Wait, does the Church of Terni-Narni-Amelia rings a bell? I was in Umbria, Italy when I visited this church, the attendant got excited when he learned that I’m Japanese because a Japanese man restored the church’s mural for free after it was vandalized for being blasphemous and homoerotic, when I asked him for a name, he confidently said, ‘Tiger’.”

He shrugged, “could be anybody.”

“Yes, but the attendant liked you so much, he secretly took a photo of you,” that made Kyomoto turned back and I managed to smirk, _gotcha!_

“You’re lying,” he said when he realized that he walked into a trap that I set.

“You did an awesome job restoring that mural and I believe that you could do the same for my boss’s Old Masters.”

“I hate your boss so much that I want to strangle an ox,” he said and I knew that he’s telling the truth. 

“My boss wishes to inform you that you could ask for any amount as payment, the sky’s the limit.”

Kyomoto sneered, “do I look poor to you?”

I looked around Kyomoto’s ultra-chic modern home, the walls made of glass with paintings by Warhol to O’Keeffe, white furniture in edgy designs, his butler simply said “let there be light” when I entered the living room and the blinds went up, and everywhere I looked, it just screams money.

“This chair that I just sat on was dubbed as the most comfortable chair in the world by Architectural Digest,” he gestured to the same chair where I also sat, “and if you look closely, it got smudged by paint from my jeans and I’m just gonna throw this away because the designer is just one call away and he’ll make me another one.”

I swallowed hard, using money to lure him was an error on my part, but after researching about him for days, I found no weakness that could be useful; he got the looks and money, what could he possibly need?

“I apologized for offering money that was pretty distasteful on my part, after all, you restored that mural in Italy for free, you couldn’t possibly be in need of money. But, is there anything you want? I’m pretty sure that my boss can provide it for you.”

“You’re pretty loyal to that jerk,” he said with distaste, I could deduce that he knew my boss on a more personal level, but it was also obvious that they are not the best of friends. He walked closer to me, circled around me, and I could feel the hair on my nape rising when he leaned closer and made a deep sniff, the warm air from his nose tickled me.

“I like your smell, Ho-ku-to.” 

I swallowed hard again, goosebumps appeared on my arms when he called me by my first name, he called my name like a devil enticing someone to sin. 

“Fine, I’ll restore that jerk’s painting on one condition.”

“I’ll do my best to fulfill that condition, Kyomoto-san.”

Kyomoto smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his brown eyes, “as you can see, everything in my house is white, do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“It’s because I like to treat everything like a blank canvass, something that I can play with, something that I can color or blacken, something that I can manipulate or experiment with, and you’re like a blank canvass, _my_ blank canvass,” he said with such ferocity that I might believe that I’m his. I’ve met with a lot of artists before, I’ve gotten accustomed to some of their eccentricities and temperaments, but I guess Kyomoto is on a different level.

“D-do you want to paint me?”

“Paint you? No!” he said as though painting me is such a horrendous idea, “I want something else, I want a taste of you.”

I stepped back before his hand could reach my crotch, “I’ll inform my boss that you’re not interested,” I quickly scuttled away with that madman’s laughter ringing in my ears.

***

When I saw the white envelope on my table, I immediately knew where it came from, the red wax seal with the initials “KT” just confirmed my everything. I wonder why would Kyomoto invite me to his live art exhibit after our very awkward first meeting, he was definitely not the type to apologize so I presumed that this invitation is a form of teasing. I was about to throw it away when I recalled my conversation with my boss, Watanabe-san.

> _“Must it really be Kyomoto, sir?”_
> 
> _“You’ve seen his restoration work, there’s no one but him who could give my Old Master a justice,” he said and looked up from his tablet, “Were you intimidated by him, Hokuto?”_
> 
> _“I think he naturally tries to intimidate people, sir,” I answered._
> 
> _“And were you intimidated?”_
> 
> _I swallowed hard before answering, “no, sir,” I lied._
> 
> _“That’s exactly why I sent you to him, most men I sent over at Kyomoto’s never want to return again, oh, but there was one who went back twice or thrice, and then-”_
> 
> _“And then?” I bravely asked even though I’m sure that I don’t want to hear the answer._
> 
> _“Then, he went crazy,” Watanabe nonchalantly said and went back to his tablet._
> 
> _I swallowed hard again, maybe I shouldn’t have lied.  
>  “Try again, Hokuto” he said without looking-up, “look for his weakness and bet on it.”_
> 
> _I sighed and bid Watanabe-san farewell for the day, Kyomoto didn’t have a weakness, what he has is a kink._

My days went on as normal as the turn of the clock, I’m at the gallery by 9 am, sometimes I meet with clients who wanted to buy some paintings or wanted me to buy a specific kind of painting for them, sometimes I chat with curious onlookers who treat the gallery like an art museum, sometimes I get visited by aspiring artists who wants to know how their artwork could be displayed in the gallery, sometimes I also get visited by nearby office ladies, inviting me for lunch and dinner and I would always decline, and sometimes, I would find myself sitting on one of the benches and just staring at a certain painting for hours, studying the mix of colors, the lines, the use of lighting, and so. If I have no meeting with Watanabe-san at the HQ, I usually go home by quarter to 7, I always passed by an udon shop near the station, it was comfort food in my monotonous life and I could make it exciting by trying different broths but my favorite would always be the spicy ones. I usually get home by 8, I would take a shower, watch some TV, before curling on my bed with a good book, and by 10, I’m usually fast asleep. My life seems boring to an outsider, but it’s comfortable and I wouldn’t trade it with anything.

On the last day of the workweek, I found myself taking a different route, I wouldn’t be having an udon tonight, I decided to attend Kyomoto’s live art exhibit. One would think that I’m agreeing to his ridiculous proposal, a proposal that I wanted to think that he wasn’t serious either, but as an art dealer, I couldn’t help but be curious about this “Awakening”.

I was surprised to see the 50-seater auditorium filled by a wide variety of people, I always thought that Kyomoto’s fans would be as snobbish as he is. I’ve just sat on my designated seat when the lights went out at exactly 8 pm followed by a two spotlight focused on the center, a male model emerged from the darkness, he was wearing nothing but a white bathrobe, he looked like Jason Momoa if he’s only 5’5”, he bowed, removed the bathrobe, and lay down on the black table. The man is really bulky, hard muscles everywhere, I’d probably hurt myself if I bumped into this guy. I looked around the mostly female audience and no one looked shocked or shy, everyone was studying the man with the same fervor as a forensic examining a dead body.

The audience made a polite clap when Kyomoto emerged, he was wearing the same outfit when I first saw him, plain white shirt, distressed jeans, slippers, and his blond locks tied back. He picked up his palette and started squeezing tubes of paint on it, before mixing it using his intricate fingers, then he painted his model using those same fingers. Kyomoto started with the man’s scalp, he didn’t seem bothered with the man’s hair and just drew within those luscious waves, after the scalp, he moved to his ears where he used his ring finger to traced swirls on the man’s earlobe, then he raised the man’s arms and made bold strokes from his inner arm to his hairless armpit, he then strokes his model's bulging biceps with red paint, and with the model’s arms stretched upwards, Kyomoto made little dots on his palm and fingertips using his pinkie, he threads on lightly as though he is careful not to tickle his model, after that, he drew some spirals on his neck, then light strokes around his navel and lower stomach before he parted his model’s leg and spread colors on his inner thigh.

I held my breath when I realized what Kyomoto was doing, he was painting on the man’s erogenous zones and by the time he reached his model's navel, his shaft was probably as hard as wood, and when Kyomoto’s expert fingers worked on his inner thigh, the man’s wood have transformed to a flag pole, proudly raised.

I looked around and no one seemed bothered with this sexual display, was I such a prude? Or was I the art snob after all since I don’t consider this exhibit as art but porn? I looked back to the stage and I stopped breathing as Kyomoto is looking directly at me, the entire auditorium might be pitch black save for the spotlight on stage but I could tell that his eyes were at me. I could tell that his eyes were on me when he started tracing black paint on the model’s erect penis, starting from his balls to the shaft to the foreskin and back to the shaft, I could tell that his eyes were on me when he traced white paint on the foreskin, subtly circling them, using his ring finger as a tongue as he stroke colors on it, his eyes were still on me when he slammed his hand on the palette, mixed everything in it before he used that same hand and worked on his model’s cock, the paint acting as a lubricant as his hand moved fast, excess paint dripping and splashing, and I’ll be damned before I admit that I could almost feel his hands on my cock, stroking until it grew, and playing until I combust. His eyes remained on me when his model came, there was a buzz of satisfaction with the erotic display before the audience erupted to applause, some even stood up, but I chose to remain seated as I could feel that something has dripped from me as well.

***

I woke up the next day with my bed drenched from my sweat, my breathing ragged, and my morning wood felt more painful than usual. I went to the bathroom, filled the sink with water until it almost overflows before submerging my head in it, images conjured in my brain, images that were the content of my last night’s dream. I saw myself back at Kyomoto’s live exhibit, but instead of a mere spectator, I was the model, I was the one naked and lying down on the black table, I was the one being painted on my erogenous zones, I was the one who had an erection, but instead of being played and spilling my seeds on his wet hand, he mounted me, and rode me until I came inside of him.

I pulled the plug and let the water drain, my head still in the sink, while my mind and body still in chaos before concluding that Kyomoto Taiga is a very dangerous man. In my line of work, I’ve dealt with dangerous people, men who won’t flinch at killing, people who would trade their family for money or drugs, but Kyomoto is different, he used one of the oldest forms of treachery- seduction, which I could tell that he’s very good at it and in which I’m afraid to admit that I’m on the verge of losing.

**Author's Note:**

> If this part of the series left you confused and weirded-out, don't worry, the next one is weirder.  
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
